The Wait
by Some1tookmyname
Summary: She'd been waiting three hours. Seven years and three hours. How much longer would she wait for him? Some missing pieces from The Hole in the Heart.
1. Chapter 1

_In between the bedroom action we didn't see and the sending off of Mr. Nigel Murray, I believe there was a conversation we also didn't get to witness. Something that solidified our dynamic duo as something more than they'd been before. This is about that. Special thanks to the lovely Baileyjane and the incomparable Eitoph. Their comments and suggestions made this story infinitely better._

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><p><strong>The Wait<strong>

She'd been waiting three hours.

In truth she would have waited all day.

Because in the grand scheme of seven years these few hours were of little cost.

She'd known he wouldn't be in his office. Agent Shaw had informed her that there had been gunfire, that Broadsky was wounded, but that Booth was fine. She had known Booth would go with Broadsky to wherever they took him to tend to his wound. There would be booking and processing and interviewing and paperwork. All of it incredibly time consuming.

She would wait.

Somewhere inside she knew that it was irrational, this need to see him. Logically, she knew he was fine. He'd told Agent Shaw to call her. He'd made sure she'd known he was alright. She tried to convince herself that she'd have been sitting in his office, waiting to see him, regardless of what had happened the night before.

She wasn't really sure that was true. She'd spent a lot of years, a lot of energy, tempering her reactions to be "appropriate" or "partner like."

But everything was different now. And based on that, she had decided to assume that her reaction, her need, was an acceptable new reality. She decided, perhaps for the first time ever, to ignore that scientific voice in her head that warned her not to jump to conclusions.

Because the other voice in her head, the one that screamed "I must see Booth," was just louder than anything else.

This was all new for her. She didn't know what to think or how to feel or what came next.

So she sat and waited because she just didn't know what else to do.

She'd tried, of course, to do other things. She'd spent thirty three minutes trying to complete paperwork, another forty seven minutes in Bone Storage and yet another seventeen minutes with Angela, trying to explain why it simply wasn't rational to go over to the Hoover and wait for Booth.

"But you want to go."

"It makes no logical sense, Ange. Booth isn't even there."

"But that's where he'll go next, right? The first place he'll be when he's finished with Broadsky?"

"Yes."

"And you want to be there when he gets there."

"Yes, but…"

"No buts, Sweetie. You were worried about him today. Last night upped the stakes. It's okay for you to want to see him as soon as you can. I'm sure he wants to see you, too."

"Why? I wasn't in danger."

"Because he loves you, Brennan."

"I…"

Angela hadn't let her go on. "Even if you don't want to think of it that way, this case took its toll on us all. He was friends with Broadsky once, right?"

"That's true."

"So this is probably hard on him."

"You might be right."

"You should be there to comfort him."

"In case he feels bad."

"And because you love him, too."

"Angela…"

Her friend held up one finger. "Don't. Believe whatever you want, but go, Brennan. Be there."

It really hadn't taken much convincing.

She'd closed the blinds and cursed the see through glass door when she'd arrived. She really didn't want anyone to know she was there. She just wanted to wait, in peace, to see Booth, so that she could begin to breathe normally again. She knew a few agents had seen her go in. She imagined that after a while they would assume she had left. It wouldn't be rational for them to think she was still in there after three hours.

Three hours.

Seven years and three hours.

And she would wait hours more if she needed to. It couldn't be quantified, but in some odd way it made _sense _to her that she was sitting there. It was…the right place to be. She couldn't say how or why, but it felt much like the first time she'd walked onto the platform at the Jeffersonian. There had been a shift inside her and something had clicked. She was supposed to be there, much as she was supposed to be in Booth's office now.

She'd stationed herself in a chair in a corner, out of eye line from the door. Brennan wasn't one who had trouble waiting. Sitting and waiting drove Booth crazy, but she could sit and wait with no entertainment at all.

Especially when there was so much to think about.

She'd thought a lot over the last twenty four hours. She'd thought and thought and thought the night before until she'd just needed some answers or at least, some sort of relief. So she'd turned to the person she had always turned to.

Booth.

What she hadn't thought was that it would turn into more than any comfort they'd given and received before. He somehow always made her feel better, from the steps of the courthouse to the burial of her almost dog, Booth always seemed to know what she needed to hear, when a hug needed to be given.

This time had been no exception. He'd held her tightly as she'd cried. He'd had no profound answers, really, other than that Vincent was most certainly not talking to her. But he'd wrapped her up in his arms, whispered words of comfort and she'd just let it all out until there was nothing left.

Well, almost nothing.

When he'd run out of words and the sobbing continued, he'd dropped a light kiss in her hair. Intuitively, without out any thought at all, she'd turned further into him, wrapping one arm around him.

There had been a change in the air right then, another of those rare moments when she'd felt a distinct shift and click. He'd felt it too.

And so it had begun.

Or maybe it wasn't the beginning. They'd been on this journey together for a while. Sometimes she'd been one step behind, sometimes he'd veered off to the side, but maybe, just maybe this wasn't the start, but the middle. Or a new direction.

They hadn't really talked about it in the morning. They'd talked about other things; breakfast options, the plan to capture Broadsky, whether or not Brennan herself should contact Vincent's parents, but the unspoken words hung in the air too, not heavy, like burdens, but lightly, like balloons that needed be grabbed onto and tied down to something solid.

"So, uh, we should probably talk about this." He'd said in the car on the way to the lab.

"But not now." She'd known.

"No. Not now. I have to focus. I can't…I can't think beyond Broadsky."

"Of course."

"It means something, though, okay? We will talk about it."

"Yes. After you get Broadsky."

"Yeah. After I get Broadsky."

He'd glanced over at her, and she'd smiled at him.

He'd smiled back.

They'd be okay. Whatever this was, whatever it meant, they'd be okay.

So she waited, so lost in her own thoughts that she startled a little when her phone rang.

"Brennan."

"Where are you?"

"Booth! I'm…" she suddenly felt a bit sheepish. "I'm in your office."

"I thought I heard your ring tone when I called," he said, coming around the corner into the room. He hit the disconnect button. "Hi." He said softly.

She disconnected too and stood, suddenly uncertain. "Hi." Her voice seemed to have left her and her greeting came out more quietly than she'd meant for it to.

The bullpen was empty, save an agent or two, but he shut the door behind him, unwilling to compromise this moment. "I was going to call to see if you'd meet me."

"I've been here a while. I just…" She stopped herself, redirected her words. "You got Broadsky."

"Yeah." He took a step forward, closer to her.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm better now." He answered pointedly.

She nodded. "Me too."

Once, in an airport, just about a year before, he'd stood close and grabbed her hand. Back then she'd been all at once hopeful and fearful that he would pull her into him. Now, as he grabbed her hand and pulled her in, she was just thankful.

He was alive.

Alive and safely with her.

And not just with her.

_With_ her.

She circled her arms around his waist, and though she would normally reach his shoulder, she positioned herself against his chest and he dropped another of his kisses into her hair.

"Eighty" she said after a while.

"What?"

She pulled back and looked up into his face. "Eighty. You heart is beating at eighty beats per minute."

"Is that good?" He smiled at her gathering of proof that he was really alright.

"Yes. Perhaps a bit elevated for someone as physically fit as you, but the events of the past two days are the likely reason."

"Bones, if my heart is beating faster than normal, it has nothing to do with Broadsky." He half joked, and all the words that hadn't been said that morning were on deck now.

She swallowed and nodded, not sure what to say, but absolutely certain she should say _something_.

"I've been here for over three hours."

He blinked, looked confused, so she said what she'd been about to say when he first came through his office door. "I just needed to see you as soon as I could. Logically I knew you were fine, but I just…I needed to see you." She couldn't convey what she wanted, but she hoped he understood.

He did. "I needed to see you too." He confessed, still standing with his arms around her.

She smiled and he felt like the sun rose in his chest.

"You did?" She was awed.

"I did." He put his hand to her face, stroked her cheek with his thumb.

"I'm not impervious anymore, Booth."

"I never really thought you were, Bones."

"Are you…angry, still?"

"No." It came out in a whisper. "Far from it."

"Okay." She responded, as if that was all there was to say.

"Okay?"

"Yes."

"What does that mean?"

"I'm ready to try us. To give this a shot." She spoke his own words back to him.

"I'm not. I'm not giving this a shot."

She stepped back out of his arms as if he'd struck her.

"What I mean is," he scrambled quickly to recover her trust. "I'm not just giving this a shot. I'm not _trying_. We're not a recipe to test out. We're not a scientific experiment. I'm not trying this. I'm doing this. With you. As long as you'll have me." He grabbed her hand again. "What do you say?"

But she couldn't say anything. All she could do was nod.

"That's a yes?"

"Yes." She croaked out and, as he broke out in his trademarked grin, she smiled back and said it again, stronger this time. "Yes."

He stepped forward and kissed her then and she kissed him back with everything that she had. It was a combination of newness, of awe, of sweetness, of love, of friendship, of promises, of past, of present, and of future.

She'd waited three hours.

Seven years and three hours.

She broke the kiss first, just to look at him; to take in his face, to remember everything about this moment.

He smiled again. "I can't believe I get to do that."

"Neither can I." She answered honestly. But there was still real life to tend to, however difficult it was, however strong the desire to pretend everything was fine now. "We're saying goodbye to Vincent tonight. We can release his body now. The hearse…the hearse is coming at nine."

"God, Bones." He took a deep breath. "I'm so sorry he got mixed up in this."

She nodded, mute now for a different reason and he hugged her tightly.

"I've got some things I have to finish here, but I'll be there, okay?"

"Thank you." She said, quietly but fiercely into his shoulder as she returned his embrace.

" Of course."

"I have some errands I should run before then." She stepped out of his arms reluctantly, but then thought better of being reluctant. She could hold him, be held by him, whenever she wanted now and she wondered if she would ever get used to that. "I'll see you at nine? The loading dock in the back of the lab."

"I'll be there." he promised, watching her as she collected her bag and coat before she went to the door.

She turned back, almost shyly. "Bye, Booth. I'll see you in a while."

He wanted to kiss her goodbye, but he wanted to play by her rules too, let her lead a little. "I'll see you in a little bit, Bones."

" Okay." She gave one last small smile and walked away.

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><p><em>There might be more. I honestly can't decide if I want to address events after VNM's send off in this fic or another. Feel free to tell me what you think about that.<em>

_Thank you for reading. Reviews are appreciated._


	2. Chapter 2

Special thanks to Baileyjane, who read the other incarnation of this chapter...the one that will never see the light of day. Your thoughts are much appreciated. And to my other twitter girls as well. Thanks for the laughs and support.

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><p><strong>Chapter Two<strong>

The world should be different.

Although she knows this is an absurd thought, Brennan cannot help but feel that the world should be different.

Vincent is dead.

Broadsky has been captured.

She and Booth are…they're _them_, but more. Better.

Her life is completely different.

This is the first time she's been out and about among the rest of the world since Vincent…since that shot came through the Jeffersonian glass and changed everything.

And she feels different.

But all these other people, all these men and women rushing around, talking on their phones, driving their cars, going home, going to work, going on dates, having dinner…their lives are the same as they were yesterday. They just…keep going, exactly as the days before and she feels as if she wants to tell them that nothing is the same and never will be again.

Of course their lives are the same. But hers is not and it seems odd that anyone's would be.

She feels disoriented. It's like she is swimming upstream, slow motion, against a tide of normalcy.

She is so off kilter she's failed to realize the time. Florists are closed. She had wanted to get a spray for Vincent's casket. The idea of sending it off without anything is abhorrent to her. There should not be a plain, ordinary casket for a young man who was anything but plain. A boy, really, who was so much more than ordinary.

But she had lost track of the time and so she stands now, in a big box store staring at wilted bouquets and finds them extremely lacking. Unsure of what to do next, the indecisiveness likely stemming from exhaustion and grief, she spots a hydrangea plant and remembers something that makes it clear it's the only good option.

"_Did you know, Dr. Brennan, that Faial Island in Portugal is called "The Blue Island" because of its abundance of blue hydrangea plants?"_

So she grabs it and takes it to the register and pays and it's all so normal for such an abnormal purchase that when the clerk tells her to have a nice night she can barely contain the gasp that threatens to escape.

This night will not be nice. It will be brutal. Of this she is certain.

She is also certain that Booth will be her anchor and while the kick start for this new turn in their relationship is tragic and difficult, the relationship itself is the very thing that is holding her upright.

She arrives at the Jeffersonian just before nine, and though the hearse is set to arrive at any time, she allows herself a few minutes to prepare for the assault on her emotions that she knows is about to occur. She has never been one who believes in ceremony and rituals for the dead. She has always understood they are for the living. She can certainly appreciate that, but knowing this send off might make her feel better in the end does not make her look forward to facing it right now.

Old Brennan would have locked herself in Bone Storage and not come out for a few days. This Brennan, the one forging a new relationship and a new kind of openness, will not.

She arrives at the loading dock after the others. Though she suspects not everyone likes her plant, Angela assures her it's perfect and she herself _knows_ that it is, so she decides not to be concerned about anyone else's interpretation of her choice.

Especially once she sees her partner looking at her in a way she hasn't seen in a while. She used to fear that look a little bit. It is now and has always been so unguarded, his feelings unchecked until he remembers to school his features into ambivalence. She finds now that she welcomes the look he wears now, feels reassured by it. More than anything she is glad to see it because she suspects a similar expression has crossed her face as well.

And suddenly, as awful as this moment is, as difficult as it is, she understands this ritual of honoring the dead to comfort the living. While all the others share a piece of trivia Vincent shared with them, it is only she who knows and shares something personal about Vincent himself. It is then that she understands that she did have a connection with him, knew him and she can only hope that Vincent recognized it too.

Sweets begins to sing and while that might seem inappropriate to some, it does not seem wrong to her. Funerals are often music heavy and it seems right to sing a song that meant something to the person for whom they are singing. It's a silly, nonsensical song, really, like much of Vincent's trivia and it feels absolutely like the right way to send him off.

They all lift the casket, save a very pregnant Angela who should not lift anything, and they slide it, slide Vincent, hydrangea and all, into the hearse.

The door is shut and he is gone and the need for physical comfort is great. In a move she would not have dared to make just days before but now cannot imagine not making, she leans into Booth ever so slightly and links her arm through his. She cannot tear her eyes away from the hearse as it pulls away, taking her favorite intern's body home to his family.

She feels sad. There is no other, more accurate word that comes to mind, but she also feels _better_. Booth's acceptance of her touch, his understanding of the gesture, makes this moment something she allows herself to feel, rather than something she tries to stuff down into compartmentalization. She realizes in that instant that while Vincent's body is on it's way home to his family, she is on a Jeffersonian loading dock with hers and that there is no one else she would rather share her grief with, no one who will understand it more, than these people here.

So they sing on and go inside and share a drink and more fond memories of the British intern. And they laugh and remember and celebrate a young man whose promise never got the chance to turn into the greatness she is certain it would have.

It is Hodgins who breaks the night up first, with the decision that Angela needs to go home and his wife is too tired to argue, which only proves the bug man is correct. There are hugs all around and Angela whispers in her ear "Don't be scared. Let it ride, okay?" Brennan nods because she has no intention of doing anything destructive and isn't the least bit scared.

Sweets leaves with them while Cam goes to her office to call and double check that the casket made it onto the plane, leaving Brennan and Booth alone in her office.

"You okay, Bones?" he asks softly.

"I will be."

He nods because words would seem empty, but the silence is comforting just the same.

After a while she says, "He wore my iguana like a hat once." She is facing the iguana's tank, her back to Booth.

Booth smiles but doesn't answer because her words don't require one.

"He said he was clever with ribbons. I'm still not sure how it was possible." She turns to look at him now. "But I like that I know that."

"It's a good thing to know, Bones."

Cam returns then, coat on, ready to leave. Vincent's body is safely on it's way home and Cam is exhausted and says she just wants to go home and hug Michelle.

"You ready?" Booth asks her and she knows that she is not, not quite yet.

"Perhaps you should walk Cam out while I pack up."

He nods, and Brennan wonders if he knows why she is stalling.

"Goodnight, Dr. Brennan." Cam offers and impulsively, Brennan feels the need to hug her, so she does.

"Goodnight, Dr. Saroyan. Thank you."

Cam returns the hug. "He loved you, Dr. Brennan. Don't doubt it."

Brennan steps back and notices the tears in her boss' eyes. "Go be with Michelle." She can't think of what else to say, but that seems appropriate enough.

"I'll be right back." Booth says over his shoulder as he escorts Cam out of her office and Brennan rewards him with a wan smile.

When they are gone, she puts on her coat and puts some files in her bag, draws the blinds and turns out the lights to her office. She closes the door and walks to the spot where Vincent died beneath their hands.

She had thought she was all cried out, but the tears spring up now, just the same, and she tries to keep them from falling by looking upwards, but sees the temporary cover over the broken pane of glass. It hurts and the tears fall anyway.

But she also sees stars in the sky and she remembers something else, a conversation on the steps of the Jeffersonian late one night.

"_Did you know, Dr. Brennan, that the constellation Delphinus, is thought to be named for the dolphin who persuaded Amphitrite to return to Poseidon and be his wife? It is believed that Poseidon placed Delphinus in the heavens as a constellation as a thank you."_

"_Yes, Mr. Nigel Murray. I did actually know that."_

"_It's rather a lovely thought, isn't it? The idea of living forever among the stars?"_

"_Yes. I suppose it is." She looked up briefly and then: "Goodnight, Mr. Nigel Murray."_

"_Goodnight, Dr. Brennan."_

"You ready, Bones?"

Booth's voice, as gentle as it is, startles her and it is too late to hide the tears. He doesn't pull her into his arms, though. Instead her takes her hand and threads his fingers through hers and looks up with her.

"You know, Bones, whatever you believe about where Vincent is now or what happens after a person dies…I know what I believe. He's in a good place now."

She nods because she knows his words are as much a comfort for himself and she thinks he deserves that.

"I will miss him." She admits. "He really was my favorite."

"Yeah. He was a good kid." He takes a small, almost imperceptible step back, silently asking her to come with him now and she does because she just wants to sleep and not think or feel this weight anymore tonight. The day has been long and while there have been good things in it, here, on her beloved forensics platform, the heaviness of the bad things feels like it is winning.

She climbs wordlessly into the SUV and he takes her home. He never asks if he should stay; it is a foregone conclusion that he will. She appreciates this certainty and is sure that he does too.

There is no awkwardness as they prepare for bed. She had thought there might be, but it is not like the night before, with closing doors and strange small talk. It's…easy and that's nice, the familiarity of seven years triumphing over the adjustment to this new dynamic.

He uses the restroom and she dons her pajamas and then they switch. They brush their teeth side by side and there is a rhythm to the routine that they seem to have already found. He catches her eyes in the mirror and grins at her, because this is surreal in a way and she has to smile back because she can admit now she has been waiting a long time for this kind of moment with him.

They climb into bed, still without words, he on the left and she, laying on her side, on the right. She reaches over and turns off the light on her side of the bed, plunging them into darkness.

He only hesitates a second before he says the words she has been hoping he would say.

"Come here."

So she scoots closer, still on her side and he scoots too, meeting her in the middle, pressing his chest into her back, burying his nose in her hair, enveloping her in his arms.

It's right. It's as it should be.

And so they sleep.

Together.

~Fin~

Thank you for reading.


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